The Way We Were
by Chameleon Incognito
Summary: You can't make up for fourteen years, but you can do your best to make sure the remaining ones are better. FACE family AU. EnglandxFem!France Fem!America


**Okay, so I've been working on this for a really long time, and wanted to post it to see what kind of response I'm going to get...since I have another fict I really want to finish, I don't know when (if) I'm going to update this. **

**But if a lot of you like it, I'll update it. **

**Sorry for mistakes!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. **

Amelia F. Jones was an average teenage girl. She liked music, hanging out with her friends, shopping at the mall, etc. She was quite pretty for the most part, if you thought unruly-blond-hair beautiful. One thing that made her not quite like others, however, was her inclination to solve every problem with—

"_Shit! _That hurt, you little bitch!"

—violence.

"That's what you get for being such a vagina!" Amelia grabbed him by the collar of his Hawaiian-print shirt, and hurled her fist into his nose. His head went reeling back, along with his body as the girl released her hold on him.

Falling on his butt, the Cuban boy clutched his nose and shot the American a death glare, his dark eyes burning into her intensely. "_What _did you call me?"

A small smirk graced her lips as she looked down on his with contempt. She placed her hands on her hips in what she thought to be the pose of a true hero looking down upon their rivals. "A prissy little _vagina _who can't handle PMSing."

The boy clutched his fists, downright furious. The two classmates had never exactly got along and were always prone to little skirmishes now and then, but they had never managed to get into an all-out brawl before. After all, the Cuban knew how wrong it was to hit a girl. However, at that moment, he didn't seem to care anymore.

With a grunt, he charged at the blond, fist posed to strike. Amelia side-stepped the attack with ease, and kneed him in the groin. A high-pitched yelp came from his mouth. He fell to the ground, clutching his crotch with the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes. After a moment of whimpering in pain, he vomited all over the pavement. The little crowd of the student body who had gathered to watch the fight let out some sounds of disgust, and from some guys, sympathy.

"I believe the winner is yours truly," Amelia smiled and flipped her hair playfully. She turned her back to the dark boy who was still on his knees and indulged in the crowd's jeers.

Unbeknownst to Amelia, Carlos, (that was the boy's name), had wiped mouth, and began to shakily stand back up. He stared at her with pure unadulterated _hatred _in his eyes. He had always disliked the American, but never had he despised another human being more in his life. She hadn't just crossed the line; she did a flying leap over it. Spitting on the ground, he took a few steps towards her, limping all the way.

Amelia began to notice that the students had quieted down considerably. She looked at them with unmasked confusion. "Aw, come on guys, what's the matter?" By the time she thought to turn around, it was already too late.

"_You fucking cunt!" _With raised fists, Carlos struck the girl, sending her down with a sickening _thud _of her head hitting the ground.

This time, there weren't any sounds from the audience.

"You think it's funny just to kick a guy in the balls?!" He kicked her stomach. "You-you must find it _hilarious _to break his _fucking nose!" _Again.

She coughed up a few good mouthfuls of blood on the ground, moaning in pain. She had the biggest headache she'd ever had in her entire life; what was worse, was that she couldn't exactly remember what was happening.

"_Someone call an ambulance!" _A voice broke the impenetrable silence. Immediately, everyone sprang into action. Several guys ran to hold Carlos back from the bleeding girl, all while he screamed profanities at her. One of Amelia's friends, a timid brunette boy, rushed to the girls' side to see if she could sit up. She responded to the boy's soothing words to the best of her abilities, but found that if she rose her head too highly it felt as if it was being split in half.

Toris, the quiet brunette, knit his eyebrows in concern. While the two individuals were _vastly _different, he cared very deeply for Amelia. She was one of his very close friends, and he didn't know how well he would take it if something awful had happened to her.

Despite the fact that she was suffering from a considerable blow to the head, Amelia was coherent enough to see Carlos flipping out like a banshee on her rags, and figure that it was him who knocked her down. Her hand blindly searched for something. In all the commotion, some other students had dropped their bags, one such student being on the basketball team. A baseball rolled out and ended up in Amelia's hand. She quickly grabbed it, and threw it as hard as she possibly could at what she thought was Carlos's head.

It ended up hitting his knee. There was a horrible, ear-grating sound a snap resonating from Carlos's knee. His scream could be heard from off campus.

Toris signed, and mentally chastised his friend. Leave it to Amelia to break someone's knee cap with a baseball while she was inhibited.

"_Vhat is going on here?!"_

Everyone shuffled anxiously as the principle, Mr. Dragomir, stormed into the scene. The student who had ran to get him shuffled behind him nerviously.

Mr. Dragomir took in the sight of Carlos's broken nose, his vomit, and leg that seemed to be oddly bend out of shape. His eyes moved to Amelia, whose head was still bleeding profusely, and how her mouth seemed to have blood dripping out of it. Despite being beyond angry and wanting to know what exactly had transpired to have two of his students injured so badly, he knew where the priorities lyed; "Did someone call an ambulance?" he demanded.

The boy who was trying to stop Amelia's blood flow raised one of his hands and said, "I called one a few minutes ago. They should be here any moment."

As if on cue, the sound of sirens could be heard, becoming louder and louder as the neared the school. Within seconds, a team of paramedics arrived, carrying the two adolescents away on gurneys. Amelia half-heartedly put up a fight, saying that she was perfectly fine. Her argument turned void when she blacked out.

Even when the ambulance drove away, the students were still animated with endless chatter. The one's that weren't stared distractedly in the distance the emergency vehicle had driven off to, silently hoping that their classmates were alright.

"Everyone, get back to class!" the principle yelled. Slightly frightened, the teens complied all too eagerly. Toris was about to follow the masses when he hears, "Not you, Mr. Laurinaitis."

"M-me?" the timid boy asked carefully.

"I want to hear your account of what happened." Toris nodded, and followed the slightly-frightening Romania to his office. At that point, he was really just hoping that Amelia would be alright.

**-:-**

"—and that's why I think you should publish my novel, Zombie-Grandma Got Ran-Over by a Reindeer."

Arthur Kirkland didn't even bother to disguise the rolling of his eyes at the absolutely _absurd _novel. And this buffoon truly expected his company to publish it. Pathetic. "Thank you, Mr. Johnson, but I believe we will have to decline that _tempting _offer. Good day." The Briton stood up from his seat, and began to pack up his brief case. _What a waste of a day, _he thought.

"Just wait a minute Mr. Kirkland," Jett Johnson ran across the room, and stood in-between Arthur and the door. "You won't even _consider _my book?"

The blond scowled at the man. He had a list of a million-and-one things to do, yet he had been forced to sit in this stupid meeting with a want-to-be author couldn't write a single _good _book to save his life. To top it off, this joke-of-a-man couldn't take "no" for an answer. "Just what do you take me for?" The Brit nearly spat. "Do you honestly thing this is some kind of joke? My company is one of _the most _prestigious publishing companies in New York, yet you have the nerve to expect me to publish the piece of rubbish! I would laugh if I wasn't so absolutely horrified! I am a _very _busy man, Mr. Johnson, and have better things to do than listen to you prattle on about zombies and reindeers. Kindly get out before I have to send security to do it for you."

Unperturbed by his threats, Jett flashed the irritable man a brilliant smile anyway. He handed him his card with his contact info before saying, "I really hope you reconsider." That being said he left.

Arthur shook his head in bewilderment. "I'll never understand those Australians," he mumbled under his breath. He quickly walked back to his office in the editing department, throwing Jett Johnson's card away in the first waste basket he saw. He sat down in his desk and sighed in relief; he was certainly glad he'd never have to see that moron again.

A soft knock came from his door. Arthur glared at it and said, "Oh, what is it now?" A blond head and soft brown eyes peaked in curiously. There was a small smile that graced the man's lips in greeting. "Oh, hello Tino, what is it?" Tino was the one person that Arthur never got irritated at. In fact, the brit rendered the task of getting angry at the sweet guy impossible. He was simply too likeable, not to mention he always got his job done. That's why Arthur appointed him the job of being his personal assistant.

"Hello Mr. Kirkland, I just came to give you the earl grey tea you asked for," he said brightly setting a warm mug down in front of his boss. Despite how everyone else in the office depicted Arthur as an anal bastard, Tino genuinely like the man. Sure, he could see what others didn't like about him but unlike the rest of his coworkers, Tino could see what a good person Mr. Kirkland was. Although Tino would never voice it, he thought Arthur's only problem was that he didn't have a significant other to go home to. While he _did _have a daughter that he loved with all his heart, she would be out of the house in about three years. After that, Arthur would be all alone in a big, empty apartment. Tino honestly worried about what would happen to his boss after that point, but he never made his concern known to said boss. He felt as if it would over-step his boundaries.

"Ahhh…." Arthur hummed taking a sip of the tea. "That hits the spot. Thank you, Tino. What would I do without you?"

"You would go through tea-withdrawal symptoms."

Arthur smiled and laughed lightly at the comment. He paused to think for a moment, and realized that was the first time he'd smiled all day. Better yet, all week. Lately his relationship hadn't been running too smoothly with his daughter. She was getting into what they called a "rebellious phase". Others have said it was completely normal, but he couldn't see how it could be anything but _ab_normal. What had happened to the sweet, innocent child he knew and loved and who was this strange _teenager _that had replaced her?

The editor pushed the thoughts out of his head; it wouldn't do him any good to think of that at work. "I suppose you're right, Tino, for no one else has half of the brain that you do."

"Thank you sir," he said. He watched as Arthur picked up one of the manuscripts piled on his desk and began to proofread it, circling errors left and right with a cherry-red pen. He didn't have anything else to do, so he figured he'd make some conversation. "How did the meeting go with Mr. Jett Johnson?"

The reaction was almost immediate; he huffed irritably, and clutched his correction-pen so hard it looked as if would snap in two. "It truly astounds me how one could be so completely daft," he turned back to viciously circling spelling and grammar errors with new renowned vigor. "Honestly, how could anyone in their right mind think that _Zombie-Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer_ is a book worth publishing? The man was wasting both of our time."

Tino knit his eyebrows, "Aw, I liked that one. It was a very funny children's story, if you ask me. I'm sure that young boys would have liked it."

"Then he should have taken his _wonderful _book to Disney!" his voice positively dripped with sarcasm. "We publish works of art, complex and fascinating fantasy and science fiction novels! We don't market to snot-nosed brats who wouldn't know literature if Shakespeare slapped them across the face with _Hamlet_!" At some point in his rant, Arthur had stood up and began to pace the length of his desk. Once he realized what he was doing, he took a deep breath, and sat back down.

The other male signed. He was already long used to Mr. Kirkland's dramatized behavior. It wasn't a necessarily "rare" occurrence. He walked two steps over and peered into the trashcan at the foot of his boss's desk. Sure enough, there, sitting on top of the pile of hundreds of other business cards, was a certain card that read the contact into of a Jett Johnson.

Tino reached into the trash can to pick it up, and set it back on Arthur's desk.

Arthur looked at him quizzically. "What are you—"

"If we only publish the same type of books, then we only market to a certain type of people," Tino interrupted. "Sure, we aren't known for children's books, but maybe we should start publishing them. It would draw a larger variety of customers, which would help us make more money."

"But—"

"I'm not telling you to publish this book specifically," Tino clarified, "but I'm suggesting to widen your horizons a bit."

Arthur picked up Jett Johnson's business card and sighed. If Tino really thought that book would be a hit with kids, maybe he should review it once more and reconsider. After all, he had a point; if they started to publish books from a wider range or genres, it would ultimately bring in more money.

Without knocking, a receptionist opened his door, bringing the Brit out of his thoughts.

"Excuse me," he said, offended that she would just barge in like that, "but would you—"

"I'm sorry sir," she interrupted, "but there's a call for you on line four."

He scoffed, waved her away, and went back to editing his manuscript. "Just put it on hold, there's no need to personally tell me. A lot of people want to talk to me."

She bit her lip nervously, and avoided eye contact. Arthur frowned at her actions, wondering why she was acting so strangely. "If I may, sir, I think you might want to take this call. It's about your daughter."

Immediately, Arthur began to massage his temples. _That stupid girl, _he thought, tiredly. _She is always getting herself into some types of trouble._ He once again set his pen down, and picked up the phone on his desk, clicking on line four.

Clearing his throat he spoke his usual greeting into the receiver, "Arthur Kirkland of _A Unicorn's Fantasy_ speaking." _Now, what did she do this time,_ he thought.

"_Hello Mr. Kirkland. This is Vald Dragomir calling about your daughter."_

Arthur suppressed a sigh. "Hello, Mr. Dragomir. What can I do for you today?"

"_Today, Amelia got into a fight with a student names Carlos Machado."_

Arthur didn't bother suppressing his sigh that time. He honestly didn't know what to do with his daughter, sometimes. She was so…_violent. _Where did he go _wrong _with that child? "Yes, I understand. This wouldn't be the first time, unfortunately. What are the consequences this time?"

"_That is yet to be decided." _Arthur's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. _Then why is he calling—_his thoughts got cut off when the principle continued. "_She has suffered mild to severe injuries, and is currently in the Samantha Parkway Hospital."_

His breathing caught in his throat. _What…?_ "E-excuse me?"

"_I'm truly sorry to say that you're daughter—"_

"Yes, yes I heard you the first time." _I just can't believe what I'm hearing…_ "Thank you for letting me know." In a daze, he hung up the phone. _She—she wouldn't, _the man tried to rationalize, _it's always been the _other _kid that ended up in the hospital. Not Amelia. _Never _Amelia…what—how—_

"Mr. Kirkland, is everything all right?" Tino poked his head in the office once more, face full of concern. "I heard that you were getting a call abou—"

Arthur stood up abruptly, nearly knocking down his office chair in the process. All of a sudden, it hit him that _his daughter was in the hospital. _"I'm sorry Tino, but I just found out that Amelia got hurt, and is in the hospital. I have to go."

Tino's eyes melted with sympathy. Granted, he didn't have any children, but he had always been frond of them. In fact, he and his husband, Berwald, were thinking about adopting in the near future. "I understand, Mr. Kirkland."

The Briton practically sprinted out of his office, and down to the parking garage. He nearly knocked over a few coworkers in the process. There were angry shouts following him the whole time, but he barely took any notice to them, too preoccupied with his task at hand.

**-:-**

_"__Mathieu, _it's time for school!"

Francine Bonnefoy swung open her son's bedroom door with much gusto. After all, it was Monday, and God knew how late the boy like to sleep in. However, when she looked at the bed, she saw that it was already all made, with no Matthew in it.

"_C'est étrange,_" she said to herself. And it was; she had never been late to wake Matthew up on a Monday. If he had already gotten himself up, it must have been much later than she anticipated. She walked to the kitchen and double checked the time on the wall clock. Furrowing her brows, she noticed that is was, in fact, only seven A.M.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a note tacked to the refrigerator door. Curiously, she snatched it up and saw that it was from Matthew.

_I had to leave early to work on a project due in History. _

_Sorry, I forgot to tell you last night. _

_See you after school!_

_—__Mathieu_

A slight frown graced her gorgeous face. It wasn't like Matthew to forget to tell her something. She signed, disappointed she wouldn't see her son until the end of the day, and went to get ready for work.

**-:-**

Matthew waited.

And waited.

_And waited._

But Heracles Karpusi, the guy who _was supposed _to be his partner for their History Project on Elijah McCoy, never showed up. As sad as it was, Matthew wasn't exactly surprised. Things like that happened to him more than he'd like to admit.

Sighing, Matthew resigned himself that he would have to finish the project alone if he wanted to have it complete by the time History class started.

While he finished up the essay in the school library, Matthew began to wish that for once, someone wouldn't forget about him. Was that _so much _to ask?

Matthew looked around the room.

Apparently, it was.

-:-

"Excuse me, miss, but could you be so kind as to tell me what room Amelia Kirkland is in?" Arthur had been waiting to speak to the receptionist for over half an hour. He understood that they had many other patients to take care of, but frankly, it was taking an immense amount of self-control just to not grab the slow receptionist's shoulders and demand to know where his daughter was, and what was wrong with her.

Without looking up from her computer monitor the pudgy woman said, "And what is your relation to Amelia?"

He grit his teeth in annoyance, trying to keep himself from shouting at the woman. "I'm her father."

She seemed to move at the speed of molasses. Ever so slowly, she typed Amelia's name into the system, looking up the room where she was currently in. After what seemed like _years, _she answered, "Alright, she's in room 205 in the east wing. She some internal bleeding, aka bruises, and a concussion."

He muttered a swift thanks, and dashed off to where she said the room was.

-:-

Matthew put all his supplies back into his bag. When he asked why Heracles didn't show up, the Greek had forgotten who Matthew was before vaguely remembering, and then making some lame excuse about sleeping in late.

The Canadian slung his book-bag over his shoulder and walked to his car in the parking lot. His mom wasn't exactly _rich, _but…okay, maybe she was a _little _rich which is why he had gotten a car for his 16th birthday. An expensive car. His mom was one of the best and most well-known fashion designers in a few nations, meaning that she got a _very _decent income. That, and her parents were filthy rich. Matthew was nowhere near a vain or materialistic person, (actually, he was a little vain; but hey, he had to inherit _something _from his mother), yet he couldn't deny that he like the perks that came from having a semi-rich parent.

Matthew was never particularly fond of school. Sure, he didn't mind it, but he didn't, per-say, _like _it. This was mainly due to the fact that he could hardly make any friends. No one _dis_liked him. It was more like they couldn't remember his existence for longer than five minutes before they forgot him once more. He supposed, in a way, it was almost a blessing. After all, he had never gotten in any sort of trouble whatsoever. Once he even stole the teacher's packet of cookies, right in front of everyone. He had made it obvious that he was the one who committed the crime, yet everyone seemed to think it was someone else who did it. Of course, that was the only time he'd even done something against the rules and it was only to test a theory. He was way too timid to do something like that ever again.

For the most part, Matthew did _not _like being the invisible man come to life. For one, it didn't stop him from being bullied. It might have helped a little because no one remembered him enough to seek him out, but for the most part, he got teased as much as the next painfully shy kid. It also made teachers forget to do thinks like put him in a seating chart, forget to assign him a group for group project, forget to serve him ice cream for the parties they had in class, etc. Overall, it wasn't exactly a happy existence.

As soon as the boy got home, he went to his bedroom and flopped on the bed. Often, Matthew felt like something was…missing from his live. Most of the time, he figured he just longed for a friend or companion. Sometimes when he felt really low, he thought it was his Dad that he wanted.

Deep down, he knew that both assumptions were wrong. Yes, he _did _long for friends. Sometimes he even wished he knew his father. But…the relationship he felt that he was deprived of was something of its own.

He ached for an unbreakable bond. A sibling? Something like that. Only closer. Often, Matthew would joke around with himself and figure that he had a long lost twin somewhere out in the world who was feeling the absence of him, just as he was feeling the absence of _his _twin. While he knew that wasn't possible, he liked to indulge his fantasies and pretend that they were out there, somewhere. That they were wondering about him, just as he was wondering about them.

He shook the melancholy thoughts out of his head. It wouldn't do him any good to wonder about something that would only sadden him.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand beside his bed. It was only four o'clock. His mother wouldn't be home for at least two hours.

Biting his lip, he glanced down at the floor. _Should I? _He thought. _She wouldn't know, and it's not like is _unheard _of, or anything. Just…frowned upon by a lot of people. _

His eyes continued to flicker from the clock, to the side of the bed, and back to the clock. Giving into temptation, he thought, _Eh, what the heck? It's not like I'm doing any harm._

Him mind was made. He scrambled off the bed, and pulled out a decently sized box from under the bed. He smiled in anticipation. _I'm so glad I decided to get the new monthly issue last week._

**-:-**

Arthur stared down at his daughter's unconscious form. Her head was bandaged with blood dotting the side she fell on. She looked a little scraped on that same side of her face and neck, but other than that, she seemed alright. He just prayed that her head injury wasn't too bad.

Sighing, he plopped himself down once more into the seat beside her bead. He had yet to hear about the conditions of the boy Amelia herself had injured. While he did hope that the poor lad was alright, his mind was too preoccupied with his own child to give it much thought.

_I just hope she wakes up soon,_ Arthur thought, peaking at the slumbering girl out of the corner of his vision. He had been in her room for twenty minutes, but she still had yet to wake. _God, I feel like such an awful parent…_he put his head into his hands. Amelia had always had an unhealthy tendency towards solving problems with her fists instead of her head. Arthur had more or less brushed it off, telling himself that she'd grow out of it just like he did. Instead of steadily getting better as Arthur had hoped she would, she seemed to be steadily getting worse.

_And now, _he moped miserably, _she got a _concussion _because of my negligence. _He knew he had to do _something, _anything_, _but he didn't know what exactly _to _do about it yet. It was a given that Amelia would refuse to go to a type of therapy of any sort; that threw most options out of the window.

"Excuse me, you must be Amelia's father?"

Arthur perked his head up to see a woman in scrubs standing in the doorway. The Brit nodded in response.

The woman's smile widened as he walked in and shut the door behind him. "Hello, I'm Nurse Ackerman, but you can just call me Emma." She crosses the room to check Amelia's vitals. "I suppose you're interested in knowing her medical condition?"

"Yes."

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Clearing his throat he smoothed it over a little. "I'm sorry I came off so rude, it's just that I—"

Her laugh startled him out of saying anything more. "Oh, you're alright. It's always nice to meet a dad who really cares about their kid." She calmed down a bit before saying, "Apparently, the right side of her head hit the pavement pretty hard. Don't worry, her concussion wasn't _too _bad. She may not remember the last few hours up to the last two days but other than that she'll make a full recovery."

Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. _She's going to be okay…_ "Thank you," he said honestly.

"Just doing my job," she beamed at the older man. Checking over her vitals one more time she said, "Everything looks good. When she wakes up, just call for assistance, okay?"

Arthur nodded. The woman smiled one last time before leaving the room. As soon as she was gone, he let himself collapse in relief. He picked up one of Amelia's dormant hands and kissed it. _She's going to be okay…_

The hand squeezed his in response. His eyebrows rose and his eyes drifted over to her face to see her eyes struggling to open. Her other hand found her head and she began to groan.

**-: -**

Matthew glanced at the clock on his nightstand in concern. It was already seven, and his mother wasn't home yet. Normally she would call if she was going to be late…

He chewed his bottom lip in worry. It wasn't like her to "go out", and not call him first. He took out his cell phone to call her, but it went straight to voicemail. A scowl settled on the young man's face.

_Maybe I should just call her work and ask them where she is…_ The Canadian deemed this a good idea, and went to his mother's room to try and look for the number. He knew he should have it saved in his contacts for emergency purposes, but he kept on forgetting.

Slipping his newest issue of yaoi manga under his bed, Matthew scrambled to Francine's room, and began to rummage through her drawers in an attempts to find a business card with her work's number on it.

He searched throughout every single one, even going as far as to empty all the contents out, but to no avail. There wasn't a single piece of paper in sight that included any telephone numbers. He was about to give up and leave the room when he remembered the drawer to her nightstand.

He slapped his forehead, mentally reprimanding himself for forgetting such an obvious place, and began empting the contents of that drawer as well. He was beginning to lose hope of ever finding what he was looking for, when he spotted a discarded business card at the bottom.

He grabbed it, and flipped it over. His hopes were dashed once he saw it belonged to an editor at _Unicorn Inc., _a publishing company in New York City. The name read _Arthur Kirkland _with an email listed below.

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Why would his mother have a business card of an editor in New York City? He slipped the card into his pocket and made a mental note to ask Francine later.

He started putting the contents of the drawer back, but paused when he saw a discarded photo, face down and his birthdate written on the back. Curiosity got the best of him. Picking up the photo, he flipped it over.

What he saw sent his brain into a spiral.

It was a picture of a happy Francine in a hospital bed and a smiling man with happy but tired green eyes, messy blond hair, and the biggest eyebrows he had ever seen. Despite the eyebrows, he wasn't unattractive in the least. On the contrary, Matthew thought he was better looking than over half the men (and women) Francine brought home.

Francine was holding a small baby wrapped in a pink blanket, and the other man was holding a different small baby wrapped up in a blue blanket.

Matthew clutched his head and tried to make sense of the picture. Was that man his father? Why was there two babies? Was he just a friend of Francine at the time and happened to have his own child at the same time?

Quickly, the boy began digging through more of his mother's junk, and ended up finding a few more photos that he hadn't seen before. There was one of Francine and the same blond man in the other picture; Francine was kissing the man's cheek, while said man was scowling at her, but blushing, nonetheless. Another one, this time with the blonde man giving the two babies from the previous picture a bath; he didn't look like he knew a picture was being taken because he was laughing.

Matthew found a couple more pictures with this blond man. With each new photo he found, he became more and more deeply confused. His mother told him that his father had died before he was born. She said she didn't have any pictures of him.

As a result, Matthew was still doubtful that this blond, bushy-eye browed man was his father. There could plenty of other explanations of who this man was to Francine, right? An old friend that moved away and liked to bring his own child, perhaps?

That's when Matthew found the wedding photo. He wasn't so doubtful anymore.

**-:-**

Arthur stood quickly, leant over the side of the bed to look at her twitching face with concern.

"_Man," _Amelia moaned out, "when did I get hit by a taco truck?"

All at once, a sigh of relief escaped Arthur chapped lips. Despite the nurse's reassurances, he would be lying if he had said he wasn't still worried about there being some bad damage to Amelia.

Her eyes flickered open and met those of her father's. "Dad?" he voice was slightly scratchy. "What happened, and why does my head hurt so badly?"

Kirkland's mouth twisted distastefully. "I'm not exactly sure myself. All I know is that you got into a particularly nasty fight with a classmate named Carlos. Do you remember any of that?"

Her face scrunched up in concentration. "I…" she started, and paused before continuing, "I think so…Carlos was being a little bit—" her blue eyes briefly flickered to her father's stern green ones. She quickly corrected herself and said, "I mean, a _jerk _again. I can't remember exactly why…the details are fuzzy…what happened?"

"You were knocked unconscious." Arthur's eyebrows creased in concern. "That other boy gave you a concussion."

Amelia's nostrils flared in anger, and she tried sitting up. A shockwave of pain went through her skull. With a small yelp, she lied back down. Arthur quietly scolded her for trying to sit up so quickly before re-fluffing her pillow. "Ugh, _not _trying that again." Arthur glared at her.

"Man, I can't believe that I let that pussy get the best of my," Amelia mourned. She dramatically threw one arm over her forehead, as her eyes rolled back inside her head. "I'm never going to be able to show my face there again!"

Arthur huffed in agitation. Once again she was being absolutely ridiculous. However, now that he was assured his darling little girl was, he couldn't help but begin to feel a strong anger and resentment begin to bubble up inside the pit of his stomach at the other student. He had never experienced that fierce anger at another child before; then again, Amelia had never been seriously hurt before either. Sure, she got a few scrapes and bruises, but she had always been the one to inflict more damage than take it.

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger. Rationally thinking, he knew that Amelia most likely hurt the other boy as well. His parents must be just as upset with Amelia as he was with their son.

"I _really _wish you would stop getting into these fights," Arthur said, exasperated. "I guess it's my fault…I never really demanded that you stop because I thought it was a phase you'd grow out of, like it was for me."

Amelia shot her father a puzzled look. "You used to get into fights, Dad?"

Arthur snorted. He looked out the window as it began to rain, a rueful smile on his face. "_Did _I? I was every bit as bad as you are, if not worse. Where did you think you got it from? Your mother?"

Amelia shrugged noncommittally, then winced. Arthur's expression grew concerned once more. "I'll go get the nurse." He stood up and walked out of the room, forgetting about the little button you're supposed to press in order to summon the nurse.

Before Arthur could get to the nurses station that was down the hall from Amelia's room, he heard someone yelling at him. Confused, Arthur turned to where the noise was coming from, only to see a squat woman with dark skin, marching up to him. She had a very dark and angry expression on her face as she said, "Are you Amelia Kirkland's father?"

Arthur's expression became confused; even more so than before. "Er…um, yes, I am. May I ask who's—"

Arthur didn't even finish his sentence before she slapped him in the face with her purse. Arthur stared at the small woman, aghast, as she began to yell at him in a mixture of English and Spanish. He didn't understand everything she said, but he picked up on the fact that it was her son, Carlos, that Amelia had beaten up.

Arthur's temper began to flare up. Who did that woman think she was, dishing him out like that?! He had every right to act just as angry and upset as she was, yet he was behaving like a proper adult ought to. He opened his mouth to make a retort to her angry words, but she hit him with her purse before he could say a word.

She continued to yell at him before slapping in several more times. Arthur had just about had enough, when she jumped on his back and tried to throttle him. To onlookers, it would have looked more comical than dangerous, since Arthur wasn't being injured at all due to the woman's small stature. He himself, however, found nothing humorous in the situation.

"Alright, that's _enough!" _Arthur firmly grasped he woman, and pried her away from him. He held her in her place as she gazed at him with absolute loathing. Arthur grit his teeth and had to restrain himself from breaking the woman's arm. "While I am sorry about any injuries cause to your son—l"

"A shattered knee-cap! Your little shit of a daughter—l"

Arthur's patience broke. "_What _did you just call my kid?"

She puffed herself up and gave a little smirk. "A little shit."

Arthur glowered over her, a menacing scowl intact. Carlos's mother's smirk faltered a little, and she seemed to shrink beneath him. Arthur growled out, "If he's anything like yourself, than whatever Amelia did to your bloody son he probably deserved it. _Do not _insult my child in front on me like that."

The Cuban was only intimidated by the Brit for a moment longer before she went into fierce mother-bear mode again. Likewise, Arthur was also in his mother-tiger-I-must-protect-my-baby mode. It wasn't a good combination.

Luck seemed to be Arthur's side when a tan male came running in the room, yelling desperately at the woman. When he got to the two, he picked up and threw the small woman over his shoulder, all while she screamed profanities at him in Spanish.

He shot Arthur a strained smile. "Sorry _señor_ she's just trying to protect our son Carlos. You understand, right?"

Arthur simply stared at the man, dumbstruck. Without saying anything, he turned around, forgetting about his quest to find a nurse, and walked back to Amelia's room.

Amelia had become impatient, so she had already clicked the button that summoned the nurse. When Arthur entered the room, Nurse Bella was already there, checking on an annoyed Amelia's vitals.

She smiled at Amelia about to reassure her that everything looked good when she saw Arthur in the doorway. At seeing his angry expression she asked sympathetically, "Did you meet Mrs. Machado, Carlos's mother?"

Arthurs face scrunched up at the mere mention of the horrendous woman. "She _attacked _me. Make sure she doesn't come anywhere _near_ my daughter."

Amelia wrinkled her brow and made a noise of confusion, while Nurse Bella simply threw her head back and laughed. "She is on medication for anger management. Her son inherited her ill temper, which explains why he got into a fight with Amelia here in the first place…I'm really sorry about that. Don't worry, we've already made sure she can't get to Amelia."

Arthur's temper flared in anger towards the woman and her son. "You mean to tell me that the reason why Amelia is in the hospital is because some _stupid _kid got angry at her?"

"Dad—"

"I don't know the details," the nurse quickly tried to appease him, "but I do know that both Carlos and his mother have a history of struggling with anger management."

"Dad—"

"If he had trouble with managing his temper in the first place, than the school should've had him on probation or something!"

"I suppose, but he probably had something to provoke him, so it's not the schools fault."

"_Dad—"_

"That still doesn't excuse the fact that my daughter—"

Amelia's face had turned completely green by that point as the nausea completely overcame her. She bent over the side of the bed and threw up all over her father's shoes.

**-:-**

_"__Mathieu, mon petit fils, mon amour et ma vie, Je suis a la maison!"_ Francine swung open the doors of her grand mini mansion, immediately looking for her son. She had a long day; her newest line of prada was just recently rejected, something that's never happened to her before. As a result, she didn't feel like bringing anyone home that night. She just wanted to spend a nice evening with her family. Which was Matthew.

Nostalgia snuck up on Francine quietly, but overtook her strongly. She sighed, eyes becoming unfocused. _Oh Amelia, _she thought sorrowfully, _I wonder what you are like…_

"Maman?"

Francine turned to see her son standing at the base of the stairs. His expression was unreadably, which slightly scared her. Usually, she could read her son like an open book. "_Oui? Mathieu, _what is the matter? Are you alright, _mon petit?" _She gazed at him in concern.

His lips were pressed together in a thin white line. His right hand was clutching some photos while trembling slightly. Francine's eyebrows drew together in concern. "Mathieu, are—"

"Who is this?" He held out a photograph Francine immediately recognized as the day Matthew and Amelia were born in the hospital. There she was, holding Amelia while Arthur sat in the chair right beside her, holding up Matthew.

On his face was a smile, so unlike the ever-present unhappy scowl he wore in the days leading up to their divorce. His eyes simply shown with happiness; happiness directed toward starting a new family, toward starting a new life…with her.

Francine gazed at the photo, and bittersweet memories of her forbidden romance with the Brit replayed in her mind. For a moment, she couldn't quite remember why they'd divorced. She hadn't looked at a single photo of him in so long, and she was starting to remember why.

"Answer my question!"

She snapped out of her daze and saw that Matthew was still holding the photo and glaring at her. She put a hand over her mouth in shock, finally realizing the fact that Matthew had found a picture of Arthur. "M-Mathieu, where did—"

"Just answer me," he demanded. While he wasn't yelling, it felt as if he was. He had never before been so short with his mother.

"Please, mon petit, don't ask me these questions." His gaze held firm. Francine sighed in defeat. "Okay, okay, he's your father."

Matthew's hand dropped to his side. He stared at the ground in shock. "But…you told me…"

The Frenchwoman sighed. "I know what I said. I just—I wanted—I thought that it would be best if you didn't know. We…we had a very nasty divorce when you were only a year old."

Matthew's eyes grew wide as he looked back at his mother. "S-s-so he just up and left, and never wanted to see me? Never called and asked you about me? Never—he just forgot he had a _son?!"_

"Matthew, it's not that simple!" Francine rushed to his side and wrapped him in a hug. She could feel him trembling in her arms. "Oh, Mathieu, I'm positive that your father loves you, just like how I love your sister."

Matthew's body froze within his grasp. "What…sister?" came his quiet response. Slowly, he pushed himself out of his mother's grasp and held her at arm's length. His expression was deadly serious, yet at the same time his eyes held a soft panic inside them.

Francine guiltily looked down.

"Maman…what sister?" His eyes flit back to the forgotten picture in his hand. His eyes widened. He temporarily forgot about the other child in the picture, too focused on figuring out if that man was really his father. "_What sister?!"_

Numbly, the woman took the picture from Matthew and looked at the baby in the pink blanket fondly. She turned it around and pointed at pink-clad child for Matthew to see. "This is your twin sister. Her name is Amelia Felicity Kirkland, and she lives with your father, Arthur Kirkland, in New York City."

**-:-**

"So, tell me again what exactly happened?"

Vladimir Dragomir took the cork out of a champagne bottle with a pop and settle beside his friend. "From what I have heard from Toris, the Cuban boy called Amelia a cunt, which caused her to punch him. And, well, Carlos struggles with anger management, so it quickly escalated into a full blown fight."

The two sat in the living room of Valdimir's house. Lukas was supposed to meet with them, but he had a conflict that night so it was just the two of them. They had bonded in college over a mutual appreciation for the magical arts.

Arthur let out a sigh and leaned back in the maroon-colored sofa. "I just wish that child was…well, less like me. That sounds like something I would've done. Honestly, sometimes I don't even know what to do with that girl…"

Vlad took a seat on the Arthurs left and offered his friend a glace of the wine. Arthur glanced at the label, recognized it, and gave a bittersweet laugh. Grabbling the bottle he said, "Ah, I remember this. _Dame Rose _was always one of Francine's favorite dessert wines." He passed the bottle back to Vald, motioning that he didn't want any. He wasn't a wine-drinking person; he also had to drive home, so he preferred to remain sober.

"Arthur, how is Amelia's injuries?" the principle inquired.

"Well, she has a mild concussion and a lot of bruising. While I'm not happy about it, I'm grateful that those are the extent of her injuries."

"That's good." He took another sip of his champagne before sighing, and setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. "Listen, Arthur, I hate to tell you this, but…Amelia is going to be expelled."

Arthur bolted upright in his seat. "_What?! _She was provoked! Come on, Vlad, I'm—"

"There you go again!" the Romanian accused. "Do you know _why _your daughter continues to get into fights? It's because you let her!"

"I do no such thing!" the Brit protested. "Amelia is _always _punished for every single fight she gets into—"

"But you defend her." Vladimir gave Arthur a good, long stare into the eyes. "Look, I don't believe Amelia is a bad kid, that's not what I'm saying! What I'm trying to say is that if you make her feel justified in her reasons for getting into fights, then she will continue _to _fight. I've tried to keep Amelia at my school, I really have, but she has just gotten into one fight too many. I'm sorry, Arthur, but my hands are tied."

The blond groaned and put his head in his hands. Amelia had been expelled from a couple schools before, but it was like receiving a slap in the face when one of his best friends expelled her themselves.

The Romanian offered a sympathetic pat on the back. "You know, my friend," he spoke, "I think it's about time that Amelia gets a…female remodel in her life."

Arthur raised his head from his hands to give the other man a harsh glare. "What are you trying to say? That I'm not good enough for my own child?"

He shook his head at the eccentrics the blond was using. Truly, Vladimir had never met a more dramatic man in his life. He honestly thought Arthur was gay when he first met him. But then he saw that Arthur had a cute girlfriend (who later became the father of his children and his ex-wife), which squashed his original assumption of the man's sexuality. "No, Arthur, you're a wonderful parent. However, Amelia is a female adolescent; maybe her recent increase in violent behavior is because she's…frustrated, of something or the sort. Come on Arthur, you're been on, what, only five dates since you and Francine got divorced?"

The Brit looked down, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "So what? I don't have time for women."

Vladimir raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I'm sure. Arthur, I'm only talking about your daughter's well-being." He leaned in close, and forced the other man to look him in the eyes. "Amelia needs her mother. She needs to know Francine, and _you _need to know Matthew. It's time you swallow your pride and give her a call."

Arthur nearly chocked on his own spit. "_What? _Call Francine!? I can't—I don't—I _won't—"_

"I admit, while you are a good father to your daughter, you've been a pretty shitty one to your son." Arthur remained quiet, a pensive look on his face. "Fourteen years," Vlad whispered, "and you haven't even so much as send your own child a birthday card."

Arthur chuckled humorlessly. "Actually, I sent him birthday gifts. Every single year…the thing is, he doesn't know they're from me. But…I wonder what he looks like. Does he resemble me, or Francine? God forbid he be cursed with my eyebrows. Does he act like Amelia, or entirely different? Or—"

"My friend, stop torturing yourself." Vlad laid a hand on the man's knee. Arthur's eyes were bright with unshed tears as he gripped the fabric of his trousers.

He smiled a rueful smile. "I suppose I am a terrible father, aren't I? Just like my own."

"You can't make up for these past fourteen years and neither can Francine," Vlad said solemnly, "but if I were you, I'd make it a point not to miss any more."

Arthur stood up abruptly. "I should go."

Vladimir watched his good friend go and, could only hope that he would grow a pair.

**-:-**

"Let me get this straight…you and my father eloped when you were twenty-two, and he was twenty-one?"

"That's right."

"And…three years later you had me, and my t-t-tw-tw-twi-_sister, _Amelia?"

"Also correct…"

"And only a year after that…you two got a divorce, decided that you take me and dad take Amelia?"

Francine sighed and slid down in the couch she was sitting in. "Mathieu, can we stop talking about such depressing things? Yes, it's all true, but that doesn't really matter anymore, _non?_ We have each other, and that's all the family that I need."

The woman leaned in to hug the boy, but he jumped up in protest, ripping himself away from her grip. She looked up in surprise at her son; while he was reluctant to her hugs at times, he had never outright refused one.

"Not for me!" Matthew shouted at her. Angry tears were running down his cheeks as he viciously swiped at them. "My whole life, I've been invisible. Everyone seems to forget about me, and I've never had a single friend. Not. A. Single. One. The only person why I _thought _gave a second thought about me was _you. _

_"_And now I find out that I have a father whose _alive, _and a-a-a-_twin sister_ that I don't even know living in New York? And the only reason why I missed out on knowing them is because of your _pride? _Are you serious, Mere? _Really? _I knew you were selfish, but you just stooped to a whole new level."

Francine sat there in stunned silence as Matthew stored up the stairs, into his room, and slammed the door.

**-:-**

Arthur sat at his desk, hands folded beneath his chin as he thought about the life he'd made for his daughter.

He'd always made sure she had all the necessities; food, water, shelter, good cloths, a good education and whatnot. In that respect, he supposed he hadn't failed her. And, while he wasn't the best at expressing his emotions, he'd always made sure to try to show her that he loved her and supported her.

Even so, the fact remains that Arthur is emotionally constipated.

Had he deprived Amelia of a nurturing home? Had he gave her the amount of emotional support that she needed?

Of course Arthur always told himself that he had. He liked to think that he made one hell of a single parent. Then how come when he truly thought deep about it he didn't know if he gave Amelia the amount of affection that a child needed?

_At least she wasn't as unfortunate as to get Francine as the parent who raised her, _Arthur though. _I swear that she would've ended up killing Amelia with affection if we hadn't divorced. She was practically suffocating them as it was…_

Arthur mentally slapped himself for thinking of his ex-wife once more. Ever since his talk with Vlad, she and Matthew seemed to be constantly on his mind. Well, it wasn't exactly unusual for him to think of his long lost son, but it wasn't quite the norm for him to think of that vile Frenchwoman.

When the two first separated, Arthur was, simply put, a wreck. He neglected his body and essential needs and he would start bawling if someone so much as mentioned Francine. He couldn't even sleep, for his dreams would be always of her.

Honestly, he truly believes he would've followed in his father's footsteps and become an alcoholic if it weren't for Amelia.

Even though she was only a small toddler at the time, she saved Arthur from an inevitable fate. Arthur forced himself to snap out of his depression because another human being, his _daughter, _depended on him for survival.

He cleaned up his act.

He ended up throwing away all the pictures he had of Francine (except for one, which he kept hidden). He forced himself never to think of her, and he never spoke of her to Amelia. Arthur made himself solely focus on his job and his daughter; he couldn't handle anything else.

When Amelia hit school, however, she began to notice that the other kids had something she didn't; a mother. Arthur told her that her mother couldn't be with her, but loved her just as much as all the other mum's loved their children. Amelia, being, well, _Amelia, _didn't take any of his words to heart. The only thing she asked for was to know what she looked like.

At first he was conflicted about it, but he ended up giving Amelia the last picture he had of Francine. In the picture, the infuriating woman was peacefully gazing out a window from her white chair while a dreamy smile graced her lips. It was always Arthur's favorite picture of Francine.

That was the day that Arthur truly let go of her (or so he thought).

Amelia never really spoke about or asked about her mother since then. He wondered at times if she still had the photograph or Francine. Other times, he wondered if he should tell her about Matthew, but he always ended up being too scared of how she would react if he told her about her twin.

Arthur often wonders what his life would've been like if he and Francine never divorced and worked through their impossible issues. It didn't matter anyway; what happened happened. There was no use wallowing in the past. He would look towards the future and be the best possible father he could be towards Amelia. After all, she deserved if since he ripped her away from everyone other family member.

_Still, _thought Arthur, _Vlad was…right. I want to see Matthew…and Amelia deserves to know her own flesh and blood. It…it's not right for me to keep her from them any longer. _

A huge wave of nausea overcame him as he thought of talking to the French woman again. He would do it. He _had _to. For Amelia, for Matthew, and for his own peace of mind.

As the Briton returned to his work, he tried to remember when was the last time he had told Amelia that he loved her.

It made him sick when he couldn't.

**-:-**

Francine was going to do it. After fourteen long years of no contact, she was going to call the very man she thought she'd never speak to again. _This is for mon petit, _she told herself. When she felt her confidence begin to wane, he repeated like a mantra inside her head, _For Mathieu, for Mathieu, for Mathieu…._

Gathering all her courage, she dialed the numbers she had sworn she'd never press. Bringing the phone to her ear, she anticipated that posh, British accent she hadn't heard in over a decade…

…only to be greeted with a loud, very American sounding adolescent female. "Um, hello?"

Francine feared she had gotten the wrong number, when it occurred to her who exactly was on the other line.

"Hey, is anyone there?" the voice greeted sounding bored.

The woman tried to open her mouth to speak, but found she could not for once. Her heart was in her throat and her hands were nearly trembling.

"Helloooooooo? Well, I'm gunna hang up—"

"_Non!" _she couldn't help herself from shouting. "Eh, I mean, I am here. I just…couldn't hear you. Ah, i-is this the Kirkland residence?"

"Um, yeah. Are you calling for my dad? I mean, Arthur Kirkland?"

Francine felt tears begin to well up in her eyes. She was right! It was Amelia on the other line. Her _petite bebe fille_. She placed a hand to her mouth so her sobs wouldn't be heard over the other end of the phone.

She scrubbed the tears away from her eyes and tried to pull herself together the best she could. "_Oui, _I wish to speak to A-Arthur."

"Sorry, he's a work right now—" Francine heard yelling on the other end. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as she heard a muffled argument.

Before she could ask if everything was alright she heard a British voice speaking into the receiver, "This is Arthur Kirkland speaking; I'm terribly sorry about that."

"Hello Arthur. It has been a long time, _oui?"_

She heard a big clamor and figured that he had dropped the phone in shock. She had to release a little giggle; some things just didn't change.

Once he managed to pick up the phone again he stammered, "F-francine? Yes, it _has _been a while…fourteen years, to be exact. Wow, um, how are you doing? H-how's…Matthew?"

She smiled at the fact that he immediately asked about Matthew, even though he couldn't see her. "I'm well, thank you. Matthew is…well, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

She proceeded to explain how he had somehow found a picture of Arthur, and through that, how he found out about this twin sister. She told him how upset he was, and how she wanted to try to fix her mistakes by introducing him to his father and sister.

The whole time, Arthur listened to the woman with rapt attention, never once interrupting her. When she finished, the first thing he said was, "…you told him I was dead? Never even showed him what I look like?"

"W-well, I didn't know what to tell him when he first started asking about his father when he went to school, I panicked and just told him that you were in heaven and that I didn't want to talk about you, okay?!"

Arthur let a sigh into the receiver. "I guess I can't really blame you."

The two stayed silent for a moment, neither knowing what to say to the other. There was so much to be said, yet no words to say it. It could've been seconds, minutes, or hours; they couldn't rightly say. Time seemed to dissipate into oblivion as they listened to the other's gentle puffs of breath.

Over the course of the next hour, they made arrangements for Francine and Matthew to slowly move to New York over summer; since Francine was her own boss, she could take her work with her. It wouldn't be too difficult, especially considering how much of an acclaimed designer she was. Arthur, on the other hand, could not take his work with him, and there weren't any job options available for him in Quebec.

The twins would be enrolled in the same high school. Arthur and Francine would have separate residences, but the twins would live together, switching off from parent to parent weekly. They both knew it wasn't conventional and would be difficult, but they both agreed that they had kept them separated for too long.

It was time for that to change.

**Please REVIEW and tell me what you think! I want to know whether to continue this or not!**


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